Shiny Silver Car
by Ladyingreen
Summary: Bella has lost her parents, and her stepfather Phil ist behaving more and more erratically. She is about to give up hope, but then decides to try something crazy. AH. Meet The Mate Contest entry.


**Disclaimer: The characters in this story were created by Stephenie Meyer. I use these characters for my story with the depest respect for Mrs. Meyer. I am extremely grateful for the inspiration she has provided with all the books she wrote.**

 **AN: Please read notes to this story on my profile page.**

 **Shiny Silver Car**

"Bella, get in the car!"

I turn around to stare at Phil, my hands still in the kitchen sink where I am washing the dishes.

"You heard me! Go!" he barks, then leaves the kitchen and runs up the stairs, obviously in a hurry.

While the water drains, I dry my hands and grab my wallet and key, wishing I also had a cell phone. I have a bad feeling about this, but I don't know what to do about it.

Quietly I open the door to the backseat of Phil's Honda Civic, trying to sit as far from the driver's seat as possible. Leaning my head back, I look up, praying that my pooling tears won't spill. The last thing I need is for Phil to accuse me of being a cry baby. The way he did when my Dad died.

At this thought I feel the salty drops running down my cheeks. I wipe them away with my sleeve and take a few deep breaths to calm myself down.

Phil opens the door and gets into the driver's seat, throwing a stuffed backpack onto the passenger seat next to him. As soon as his seatbelt clicks into place he backs out of the driveway of our Phoenix house.

"Where are we going?" I ask after a while.

"None of your business. Just shut up and do as I say."

His angry tone has me worried even more. Chewing on my bottom lip I try to imagine what could have caused this kind of behaviour from him.

My mind goes back to the time when I first met him.

I was 14. My mother, Renée, had met him at a Christmas party of a friend. They started dating right away, and by the end of January my mom brought him home to meet me. It wasn't the first time my mother had dated a younger man, so I wasn't surpised by his age: barely ten years my senior, just two years out of college and now a professional baseball player for a minor league team.

He made my mother happy, and he neither ignored me nor tried to curry favour with me at all costs.

Their engagement that summer surprised me though. As long as I had known my mother she had always enjoyed her freedom and I hadn't seen her in a long term commitment until now.

The wedding was in October, just a month after my fifteenth birthday. I was the one and only bridesmaid, one of Phil's baseball buddies was best man, and together with several friends and colleagues they had a short ceremony at the courthouse with a cheerful party at a neighbourhood restaurant later.

Phil moved in and everything was fine until my mother got sick sixteen months later.

I am pulled from my thoughts when the car stops at a gas station along the highway.

"Stay here! Don't move!" Phil commands.

I feel sick. What am I going to do? This really isn't normal. Why is he ordering me around now?

Phil gets back into the car and continues driving us northward while I stare out of the window.

My thoughts turn back to my mom.

At first we thought is was nothing, maybe a mild case of the flu. She was so tired and achey, so she took some pills and rested a lot. When it didn't get better she took a pregnancy test, but that turned out negative. The next stop was the doctor's office. There she was told she had some mineral deficiencies and was given a prescription for some supplements.

For a while we thought things were getting better. Then things got worse. A lot worse. By the time she finally got diagnosed at a hospital, it was already too late. Her pancreatic cancer had already spread. But nobody hat thought to consider it at first, as she did not fit the usual risk group for pancreatic cancer. Chemotherapy and radiation could only delay the inevitable.

When Phil stops the car again, it is already dark outside. We are in front of a run down motel in who-knows-where. I should probably pay attention to where we are going at least. Giving in to lethargy and hopelessness is not going to help me.

"Wait here," Phil growls out and heads to the reception. He comes back with a key and orders me to follow him as he grabs his backpack.

The motel room is very basic. A queen sized bed, a couple of night stands, a tiny desk with a simple chair, an old TV set, and a threadbare rug on the floor.

I need to pee, so I slip into the narrow bathroom. There isn't even a proper shower stall. Just a drain in the floor and a shower curtain. I relieve myself and wash my hands and face, hesitant to occupy the bathroom longer than absolutely necessary, in case Phil wants to use it next.

When I come out Phil is not in the room. While I am still considering what to do next, Phil barges in and throws some snacks and drinks onto the desk. He must have gone to the vending machine. Phil pushes a can of soda and a small bag of Doritos in my direction and I grab them before he can change his mind.

I sit on the old rug, quietly munching on what seems to be my dinner tonight and Phil reclines on the bed, watching the news while gorging himself on chocolate bars, chips, pretzels, candy, and soda.

"You can sleep on the rug," he tells me afterwards.

I just stare and say nothing. Phil ignores me, goes to the bathroom, and gets into the bed afterwards, tossing me one of the two lumpy pillows.

With little else left to do, I lay down. My body is tired, but my mind is too keyed up to fall asleep. I consider leaving as soon as Phil is fast asleep. But where would I go? And how would I get there? We are in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps I could go to the reception and call somebody. But whom? There is nobody left in my life.

I was never good at making friends, and when my mom got sick I spent so much time taking care of her that there was none left to maintain any kind of relationship with the kids at school.

I wish my dad were still alive.

Silent tears start soaking my pillow as my mind goes back six months.

My mother was so sick, and the meds made her a bit confused at times. I came home from school one day to find Phil there with a stern face.

"Your father was killed," he said.

"What?" I stared at him in shock.

"The funeral is next week," he added in a monotonous voice. "But you can't go. I have an outward game and you have to stay here and take care of your mom."

"What do you mean, he was killed? And I can't even go to his funeral? It's my Dad!"

"He got shot in the line of duty. You can't go and that's final!"

"But that's unfair!"

"Then leave your mother to her own devices if your dad is more important to you than your mom!"

I ran upstairs and threw myself onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow to stifle my sobs.

In the end I really didn't go. I couldn't understand why Phil was being so mean, but I put it down to how stressed he was about my mom's health.

A kick at my food wakes me up the next morning.

"Get ready, we leave in five minutes."

I gather my aching limbs and scramble into the bathroom. No time for a shower, and no toothbrush. I scrub at my teeth with my finger and wash my face. After using the toilet and washing hands I head out. Phil is waiting at the open door but says nothing.

A quick stop for coffee (Phil) and orange juice (me) later we are back on the highway. I look around and see that we are in Nevada, still heading north.

Phil keeps driving all day, only stopping for gas and a quick drive through lunch. We are almost in Idaho when I doze off.

"I am trying. I'm driving as fast as I can without attracting attention."

Phil's voice hissing into his cell phone wakes me from my dreams. I keep still and listen.

"Look, I need the money, and the girl is as innocent as promised. We'll both profit from this deal, so just give me until tomorrow at noon. I should have made it there by then."

Phil ends the call and turns, probably checking on me. I keep my eyes closed and my breathing even. I will have to keep still for a while yet so he won't know I heard that part of his phone conversation.

Internally I am wide awake. The hair on the back of my neck seems to be standing up as I consider the meaning of his words. Does he intend to sell me? But why? And to whom? Or did those words mean something else altogether? What kind of deal was he talking about?

We arrive at another remote motel and I am no further to a solution than I was before. The evening goes about the same as the one before, and again I consider running away, only to reject that plan once more. I am scared, and I just want to crawl into a hole and have all my problems go away.

My memories take me to my mother's funeral this time. It was only two months ago. I was halfway through my junior year at high school. Lots of friends, colleagues, and neighbours came to pay their respects. But afterwards we were alone. Since I had nobody else, I decided to stay with Phil until I finished high school.

I attributed his curtness to his grieving. I didn't talk much either. It was as though we were roommates.

Until yesterday. Was it really yesterday? Somehow it seems as though this trip has been going on for days. I only know when it will probably end: tomorrow at noon.

Phil wakes me with a kick to my leg again. I get up and go into the bathroom. Neither of us says anything. I pull my fingers through my hair, trying to tame it somehow. If only I could take a shower! I am beginning to get really filthy, and these sleazy motels are not helping.

A small packet of chocolate milk is my breakfast today. I stare into space as my brain tries to come up with a solution, a way out of my predicament.

Muttering curses under his breath, Phil pulls into a gas station. My mind barely even registers the shiny silver car that pulls in beside us. Both Phil and the shiny silver car owner fill up with gas. Before Phil can head into the shop to pay, his cell phone rings. I cannot hear his end of the conversation, but somehow it occurs to me that the shiny silver car owner doesn't lock his vehicle when he walks into the small store at the gas station.

Eventually Phil heads over there too, and then it hits me.

Before I can even consider the consequences, I slide out of Phil's car and into the shiny silver car next to us. I crouch down on the floor in front of the back passenger seats. My heart ist pounding so hard that I am sure it can be heard from outside the dar.

The driver's door opens and the driver gets in, dumping something on the passenger seat. I squeeze my eyes shut, certain he will detect me any second now. Music blares as he turns on the ignition and then drives away.

I hear the rustling of a snack wrapper, the sipping of a drink. When the song ends, I clear my throat, and immediately regret it. As the driver turns around in shock, the car swerves. He turns back forward and concentrates on the road, but the glances he throws me in the back mirror with his green eyes could probably burn me.

"Well? Care to explain?" he grinds out between clenched teeth.

"Um...I...well...could you maybe...well...er...take me to the police?"

He barks out a short laugh.

"You bet I will," he growls.

I keep silent as he drives on.

"Oh, for goodness sake, sit down properly." I see him pinching the brige of his nose.

"Um...well...I...er...you know...um...he might see me," I stutter.

It feels as though the angry energy around him turns into something more compassionate.

"Whom are you running from, little girl?"

I resent the little girl statement. I am seventeen, after all. But I answer anyways.

"My stepfather," I say quietly, but calmer now.

The driver doesn't reply right away. He seems to be thinking things through.

"Is there anybody else you can call?" he asks after a while.

I shake my head. "No, my parents are both dead. No grandparents or other relatives either."

"Are you from around here?"

Here is Oregon at the moment.

"I'm from Phoenix."

I wonder if it was a good thing or a bad thing to tell him the truth.

"And how did you get here?"

"Phil, my stepfather, drove us here."

"And why did you run?"

"I heard him talking on the phone. I think..." I gulp before I can continue."I think he wants to...um...well...to sell me." I blush, wondering what the kind stranger will think of my story.

"That is a pretty serious accusation, little girl." I bristle at his term for me. "Did he hurt you?"

"No." I bite my lip. "At least not physically," I amend.

He drags one hand through his hair. He has interesting hair. Very messy, and a strange bronze colour.

"Well. Let's go to the police station then and we'll see from there, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm Edward, by the way."

"Oh, okay. I'm Bella."

Edward rummages through the things on the passenger seat and passes me a Twinkie and a bottle of water.

"Here."

"Thank you."

We drive in silence for a long time. Edward glances at me through the mirror every now and then. Occasionally he drags his had through his hair, but remains focussed on the road for most of the drive.

We seem to be in a large city now. At last the car stops. Edward opens the door for me and helps me out of the car. It takes a while for my cramped legs to support me fully. Edward patiently stays by my side until I am ready to go.

"The police station is around the corner. My brother works there. You'll be fine. He will help you," he says encouragingly.

We walk up to the station together. I take a deep breath and then look at Edward. I see him in all his manly glory for the first time. He is tall and handsome. His looks say that he must be in his mid-twenties, but his demeanour suggests a slightly older age.

I don't know what will happen to me next. But something tells me that I will never go back to my old life, and that Edward is the key that has unlocked a brighter future for me than I might have had with Phil.

For the first time in a long while I feel a smile of hope spreading across my face.

I look up at Edward's face and see him returning the smile. Together we enter the station and, at least for me, a new life.


End file.
